


The Emperor

by grabmotte



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Kink Meme, Prompt Fill, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1418826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grabmotte/pseuds/grabmotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The musketeers have been naughty. Now they must face their captain's wrath.</p>
<p>Originally written as a fill for a prompt on the anon-meme, now beta'd and available for your reading pleasure on AO3! </p>
<p>Original prompt:<br/><i>"I want the musketeers (D'artagnan included) to be protective of Treville for some reason, I don't care what.</i><br/>I'd love to see them jump to his defence or challenge someone to a duel because of him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emperor

It was quite a sight to see a man as large as Porthos try to make himself look small and pretend to be invisible. If the situation had not been so serious Tréville would have made sure to have this over and done with as quickly as possible just so he could laugh about it in private. 

But unfortunately the gravity of the situation required severe measures. A thorough questioning and chewing out of his men was only the beginning.

Presently there were a dozen musketeers gathered in the court before their captain. Some were patched up with makeshift bandages, others still wore bloodstained shirts, and most still reeked of the spirits spilled the last night. For shame. They all were standing to attention, looking straight ahead with stone faced miens. 

D'Artagnan was there too. He had only been with them for a couple of months, but whenever something was afoot you could be sure to find the young Gascon in the middle of it. 

On days like these Tréville was convinced that allowing d'Artagnan to run with his wolves had done the young man no favours. Obviously his musketeers were no gentlemen. At the moment they were not even soldiers. They were brutes. Stupid, unthinking, bloodthirsty brutes.

And Tréville would take them to task for it even if it meant kicking each and every one of their sorry arses out of the regiment. 

"You attacked the guard of a visiting, allied foreign dignitary! Within the walls of our very own city!" 

Tréville made sure to lay as much anger and disappointment in the words as he felt.

"I hope you are proud of yourselves. Instead of brokering new trade agreements beneficial to our country, all the duke will talk of now is you disgraceful lot taking out his guard."

The fight eventually had had to be broken up by a third party, Red Guards of course. What a mess. Tréville would be hearing about this from king and cardinal for months. Of course the captain was proud that his musketeers had come out on top against their counterparts, but that was beside the point. Any pride he felt was perverted by the shame they had brought on themselves. And on him.

At least it had not been illegal duelling again, just "A tavern brawl. Like common thugs! With the duke's own lifeguard."

No swords had been drawn, no pistols fired. Only fists had flown, and chairs, and barrels full of wine and beer – and vomit, by the smell of his musketeers. Still, men had been left on the floor with broken bones, unconscious. Mostly the duke's men.

Tréville walked down the ranks so he could turn his attention to a group of musketeers further in the back. "And the musketeers who were supposed to break up the subsequent commotion after it had been reported to them when they arrived on scene … joined in." 

None of them even blinked. At least they were wise enough not to dare move a muscle while their captain's wrath was upon them. 

"You better hope the cardinal is even quicker with his tongue than usual or our guest might leave tonight, all thanks to you."

Inanely at the mention of the Cardinal's tongue quite a few men _twitched_. And the musketeer right in front of Tréville had to concentrate so hard on keeping his face impassive that he almost went cross-eyed. 

Finding out what this was about promised to prove even less fun now if the cardinal was so amply involved that mentioning him brought about fits in musketeers who were presently terrified of breathing too loud. 

With brisk strides Tréville walked back to the front and found himself facing the inseparable trio that had so recently turned into a quartet. Of course, they were always in the front, his model soldiers, and the musketeers had no qualms of falling in line behind them. 

Disgraceful louts. All of them. Rogues dressed in gentleman's clothing. Marauders pretending to be knights, just so they could legally enjoy the thrill of the fight.

None of them had one shred of reason or the least sense of responsibility, not to mention loyalty. Drink, fuck, fight. It was all they cared about. None of them had a functioning brain to fathom what they had done. 

Somewhat predictably Tréville stopped in front of Athos. If he was going to get any sensible response to his questions it was going to come out of him. 

Athos and his blasted friends stood looking straight ahead, faces masks of stone, eyes fixed firmly on an imaginary point somewhere too close to Tréville's right ear. 

He regarded each of them thoughtfully. Porthos still showed a faint mark on his brow he had recently earned in a fight with a newly recruited musketeer who came from a noble family and had dared to take a shot at Porthos' low upbringing as a thief and a cardsharp. The same young fool had been fighting back to back with Porthos and his friends last night. 

Was it not comforting to know that disturbing the peace and souring France's relationship to one of her allies at least proved to be an effective team-bonding activity? Tréville would make sure these men would spend a lot more time together bonding. Either at the whipping post or when he had them cleaning out the stables with their tablespoons. 

"Answer me one thing", Tréville barked at Athos. "Why? And you better be quick-witted about it."

"With due respect sir," Athos began bravely, "we had been provoked."

"Right, they started it!" 

It was Porthos who had simply blurted that out. Tréville silenced him with a glance. The big man now suitably looked like he regretted having been born with a mouth. And like he would faint if Tréville kept staring at him.

Tréville turned to pacing in front of them and Porthos took the opportunity to start breathing again.

"What fine upstanding gentlemen you are, your personal honour more important to you than the future of your country!"

"No, sir."

"No?" Tréville fixed Athos with a steely glare, but the man kept outwardly calm as he continued: 

"They did not attack our personal honour at all, sir. They began by insulting the honour of French women in general and Michaud's mother in particular. But since Michaud – being a bastard – agreed with them that his mother was indeed a whore, we did not feel obliged to challenge them."

"They _began_?"

"Yes, sir. They then went on to insult French wine." _A serious offense considering the swill coming out of the duke's own home country._ Still, no reason to endanger important political treaties. 

"And your reaction to all of this was what?"

"We stayed calm, sir. But they were not finished yet."

"Then get to what made you punch the captain of the duke's guard in the face, man!"

"They went on to make disparaging comments about His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, sir."

Tréville stared at him. "If you are going to tell me you put the duke's whole lifeguard out of order to defend the honour of the cardinal I'll sign you all over to the Red Guards immediately. I am sure the cardinal will be delighted."

The musketeers somehow managed to convey their mortification at the mere idea solely through their glassy stares growing a bit more wide-eyed and animated. 

"No, sir", Athos explained. "There is more."

Despite Tréville's request to get to the point Athos obviously felt it necessary to build up to a punch line. This joke better be good.

"Go on."

"They next remarked upon the king's unfitness to rule and … to produce an heir." 

"And then you hit them? So you're all patriots, congratulations. Make sure the next time your feelings for king and country overwhelm you, you don't put that same king and country in an uncomfortable position by your actions."

"Sir, it was not all they said."

"Well get to the point then!" 

"Sir, they also mentioned you." 

_Oh._

Athos' face might as well have been made of marble for all the expression it showed, although the man might have gotten a shade paler than usual. But next to him d'Artagnan was clearly flustered, and colour rose up in Porthos' face to burn his ears. 

They had managed to restrain themselves from challenging the guards over an insult to their monarch's political and sexual competence, but something they had said about _him_ had made them … 

"Go on then, what did they say? What did they say that demanded a dozen musketeers to spring to the defence of my poor abused honour?"

Athos reaction stunned him: 

"I'd rather not say, sir." The man actually looked down for a split-second.

Tréville hated to do this to him but it had to be done – and to be absolutely honest, Tréville was morbidly curious as well: "You better recover the use of your tongue before I think of some more creative tasks for it."

It was Aramis who selflessly came to his friend's aid. 

"Sir, they said you were quite famous even among their troops, because it was known you picked only the handsomest kids from the street to become musketeers because you liked how they looked in uniform, and their arses. They continued to say you also liked horses, but not as much as horses liked you."

Tréville had known when he had been woken with word of a dozen of his musketeers having been arrested for tavern brawling that the day would become an interesting one. This however went beyond his wildest imaginations. 

As Aramis continued in a voice much lower and flatter than his usual tone, Tréville could see that next to him Porthos actually broke down enough to have to study his shoes for a moment. The man's fists clenched at his side. All over the courtyard the offenders who had swallowed his accusations so commendably were becoming slightly restless.

"They focused quite a lot on how you were you were the cardinal's puppet because he knew where to tickle you right with his tongue. Then they proceeded to list all the places where they believed he licked you and then graphically described how he would fuck you in various different locations after he had done the licking. Pardon the profanity, sir, I am partly quoting."

"Yes, thank you Aramis. Anything more they had to say about me?"

"They were quite chatty fellows, sir, and rather imaginative after a couple of drinks."

As Aramis went on Tréville tried to recall where he had put the strong brandy. He was going to need it once this was done. He possibly also needed not to have to face Richelieu for a couple of days, or months. 

And Aramis did not show any signs of finishing his recollections soon. 

"This last one was a rather bold call-back to what they had said about His Eminence the cardinal earlier which involved a hedgehog."

Forget the brandy. By now he would need a fork and a sponge to clean out his brain pan. 

"Thank you Aramis. Did they say anything that did not concern my sexual appetites?"

"They also said that you needed our horrible cheap French wine to function in the morning, because otherwise you could not live with the bleak prospects of facing another day serving an inbred king by commanding ugly toy soldiers, and that you would happily slit each of our throats to be able to even kiss their boots let alone serve as the lowest man in a proper army like their duke's."

Aramis actually caught his eyes when he said that. _Fucking bastards._

"One of them volunteered their boots for you to kiss, but only if he were allowed to publicly burn them afterwards. This was when several of my comrades thought it prudent to take hold of the duke's guards and rearrange their features into more pleasant shapes."

Tréville looked over his men as Aramis paused.

He must have been mistaken. They reminded him less of scoundrels and more of puppies who had pissed on the carpet. They knew they had done something wrong but they had been physically unable to stop themselves from doing it. And now they duly awaited the inevitable punishment for it by their master's hand. 

He knew no matter what draconic measures they would face they would accept it. For him. 

They were less ashamed of having alienated an ally so unworthy of them than they were of having disappointed their captain. 

Tréville felt his fury retreat like a wave rolling back out to sea. It allowed him to examine his own feelings clearly in the cool, sharp sand the tide left behind.

He was moved. He could not deny it. He knew he was respected by his musketeers. Otherwise his job managing such a number of conceited, cocky, _talented_ young men would be impossible. But he would be damned if he ever stopped feeling proud at their adoration of him. It was his most prized possession: there is nothing so precious, so hard earned, or so fleeting as the love of men. To command respect was one thing. To inspire love at the same time as respect and fear was all a man could aspire to.

There was no sense in continuing with Aramis' narration. Tréville knew what he needed to know and the musketeers were visibly becoming more and more uncomfortable. To let them grow upset even further served no purpose and would be to no one's benefit. Let them be upset at their eventual punishment instead.

"Since you are the king's men and since you successfully turned this into a state matter I am going to have to consult the king on how he wishes to punish you. Until then you are confined to your quarters. Dismissed!"

They _were_ the king's own men. If Louis insisted the captain make use of heavy corporal punishment or dishonourable discharges to appease the duke Tréville could not possibly disobey. But he was sure the king would not think of anything as severe as that if he did not remind him of it. And Richelieu most likely would not insist on reminding him either once Tréville had found out and let slip what exactly had been said about the cardinal. Or better yet … it was still a couple of hours until his appointment with the king about the whole affair. Perhaps he could have his secretary sketch a detailed diagram to be copied and passed around the Red Guards before Tréville confronted the cardinal. 

As his musketeers shuffled out of the court sullenly Tréville called Aramis back and immediately his friends made their farewells to the poor man, their faces grave and ashen. 

It appeared there was still a healthy layer of fear beneath the adoration. 

_Good._

Aramis walked over to his captain looking like he expected to be skinned alive. 

But Tréville simply patted his shoulder and led him to his office. 

"Aramis, what did they say about the cardinal? I need you to tell me all about the hedgehog. Your hide might depend on it."


End file.
